Therapeutic
by JC4ever
Summary: Okay, this is a little ficlet that has been running in my head. BA, but not in the traditional sense.


**Therapeutic**

Dr Paula Guyson was having an exceptionally bad week. Sure, she was a therapist. The patients she saw were at times quite ill. Or belligerent. Or just plain needy. One patient in particular was putting a burr in her butt. One Detective Robert Goren. Smart, angry, and in total denial over his ability to participate in therapy. Well, he participated. Somewhat. She looked out at the beautiful late spring day. Maybe a nice lunch and a brisk walk would help pass this lousy Friday.

She shook her head as she walked into a Manhattan restaurant for lunch. After a stop in the ladies room, she scanned the foyer, knowing she would have a wait to be seated. Days like this, she eschewed her usual lunch at her desk for a dose of high end cuisine. She observed the people waiting, playing her 'body language analysis' game to amuse herself. Occupational hazard, she grinned to herself.

A man gesturing across the room caught her eye. Though his back was turned, she recognized him immediately. The difficult patient, Goren. She unconsciously ducked behind a potted palm, and just watched. He was with a woman, a date? They seemed familiar with each other, the woman was laughing. Small, blonde, well-dressed, forties and pretty. She groaned inwardly, profiling her patients after hours, wasn't her week bad enough?

The couple she was watching so intently was ushered to a table. Paula's stomach growled, reminding her that she had just over an hour til her next appointment. Impulse caused her to press a twenty into the maitre-d's hand. "Could I get that table?" she pointed to a secluded one within sight of her patient and his date.

It's research, she argued with herself. An opportunity to observe her patient in a social situation. Well, not really observe him as his back was mostly to her. She quietly placed her order, then texted her husband. They were planning a weekend getaway, and wanted to let him know how ready she was for a break. Ian was a busy surgeon, so he understood the pressures of his wife's career. Their children were in middle school, and weekends away were a luxury.

She settled back to eat her lunch and observe. The woman with Goren was indeed at ease with him, and she caught a few snippets of conversation over the soft music and the chatter of the other customers.

"So he put a note to the tooth fairy under his pillow, saying his mom had tossed the tooth out when she changed his sheets and could he have the money anyway," she laughed.

Goren's reply was unintelligible, but she heard him laugh. The doctor forgot about eavesdropping and just focused on watching them interact. Maybe Robert Goren didn't think he could be romantically involved with someone he respected. One thing appeared evident: the woman with him seemed to have no such difficulty.

His companion was at ease, but it was more than that. She wasn't classically beautiful, but she seemed to glow, for want of a better word. Her face was animated, and her eyes danced as she sparred with him affectionately.

Goren was clearly comfortable with her, and waved his fork or hand to emphasize a point. He laughed frequently, was genuinely relaxed.

Dr Guyson's musings came to an abrupt end, as Goren snapped open his cell. With a few curt words, he nodded to his lunch date, threw some bills on the table and the two hastily departed.

Guess the lunch show is over, she thought as she finished her salad. She paid the tab and found she had enough time for that brisk walk before her next appointment.

Just inside her usual circuit in Central Park, she came on a small crowd gathered, and saw a glimpse of crime scene tape. "Great, just what I needed," she muttered.

At the bottom of the hill was her problem patient, the great Detective Goren. He was waving his arms, apparently directing some ancillary personnel. There was a body on the ground, and the usual complement of CSU, medical and gawkers milling about. One figure in particular stood out: the petite blonde woman from the restaurant.

As she watched from a distance, she didn't have to hear their words, their actions were more than obvious. Few words were spoken; they communicated with glances and gestures. It was a dance, one that they had performed hundreds of times, the damaged detective and his loyal partner. Dr Guyson smiled. Maybe she didn't have the whole picture, but it was much less pixelated, as her kids would say.


End file.
